At the theatre or opera, at concerts, or popular lectures, at
"commencements," and other prosperous and happy public entertainments,
a certain gayety of manner may be in harmony with the occasion; but it
should be under control, a smiling cheerfulness, not a free-and-easy
jollity. Before the play, or the programme, begins, social
conversation is usually allowable in quiet tones that do not disturb
the surrounding people. A gentle hum of lively voices is not an
unpleasant overture on such occasions. But the moment the orchestra
begins, if at the theatre, or the instant that the meeting is called to
order by any initial feature of the programme, silence should fall upon
the assembly, and not a whisper be heard. Polite attention should be
given to each feature of the hour. Programmes should be folded and
arranged for easy reference before the exercises begin, so that no
rustling of papers shall mar the effect of the music, or interfere with
the speakers or listeners. The noisy handling of programmes is a most
exasperating exhibition of thoughtlessness, and can easily be avoided
by a little caution.
It should be accounted a matter of good form not to be late in arriving
at the theatre, opera, etc. People sometimes think that because their
seats are secured by their ticket-coupons, it makes no difference
whether they are in their places before the curtain rises or not. But
it is inconsistent for people who would be thought to be well-mannered,
to inflict on others so much annoyance as is the result of coming late
and making a commotion arranging seats, etc., after a drama is in
progress, or a lecture or concert begun. When this happens, it should
be the rare and unavoidable accident of detention, not the habitual and
perhaps even ostentatious custom that it seems to be with some people.
The noise about the swing-doors, and the rustle in the aisles, the
banging of hinged seats, and the occasional parley with the usher,
render the seats under the galleries practically valueless during the
first half of the performance, since the speakers cannot be heard in
the midst of the confusion. The "sense" of the opening act being lost,
the entire play is marred simply because forty or fifty people are ten
or fifteen minutes late. If managers would combine and agree to order
the doors closed several minutes before the performance begins, it
would soon remedy the trouble, and a host of patrons would applaud
their course. The most aggravating thing about annoyances of this kind
is that they are inflicted by the very few, and suffered by the very
many.
In crowded theatres and lecture halls, heavy coats and wraps must be
disposed within each owner's own territory. They should not lie over
the top of the seat or bulge over into the adjoining seats to encroach
upon other people. Nor should the owner of a big overcoat double it up
into a cushion and sit upon it, to raise himself six inches higher, to
the disadvantage of the person seated back of him--a selfish
preparation to see the sights which we sometimes observe, even in the
parquet centre.
The fashion, now almost universal, of removing hats at all spectacular
entertainments, does away with what was formerly a conspicuous source
of annoyance. For awhile this downfall of view-obstructing millinery
promised a "square deal" to the occupants of the back rows. But of
late vanity has re-asserted itself in the guise of elaborate
hair-dressing, until the aigrette and the bow have become as great an
imposition as was their predecessor, the flaring hat. This evasion of
the issue will be more difficult to control by public prohibition. It
remains for the polite woman to avoid adopting, for such occasions, the
towering head-dress that evokes not admiration but execration from the
people seated behind her. No woman need risk annoying others in order
to be attractive herself; there are numerous styles that are both
unobtrusive and becoming. Moreover, the woman in good society has
ample opportunity to exhibit her elaborate coiffure at private social
functions.
People who wish to leave the theatre between the acts should make it a
point to secure end seats and not _scrape_ past half a dozen other
people three or four times during the performance. If it is necessary
to trouble other people to rise and step aside to allow one to take or
to leave his seat, the person thus obliged should preface the action
with "I beg pardon," or "May I trouble you to allow me to pass;"--and
should acknowledge the obligation by saying "Thank you." This may not
lessen the inconvenience to other people, but it may mollify the
feeling of irritability that such things naturally arouse.
It ought to be superfluous to say that talking aloud, or continuous
whispering during the progress of a play or opera or concert, usually
on topics foreign to the occasion, is a rudeness to the performers and
a bold impertinence to the rest of the audience. Some people are
guilty of this insolence wittingly and unblushingly. For such we have
no word of advice. Such instances should be met by something more
effective than "gentle influence." But many, especially young people,
talk and laugh thoughtlessly, and from mere exuberance of animal
spirits. It is to be hoped that on pausing to reflect they will
carefully avoid forming a habit of public misbehavior that will
ultimately rank them in the social scale as confirmed vulgarians. An
_intelligent_ listener never interrupts. Between the scenes of a play,
or the successive numbers of a concert programme, there are pauses long
enough for a brief exchange of comment between two friends who are
sharing an entertainment, and they may enjoy the pleasure of thus
comparing notes without once disturbing the order of the time and place.
At a spectacular entertainment, it is very rude for those in front to
stand up in order to see better, thus cutting off all view for those
back of them. The disposition to do this is very strong in rural
audiences, where the flat floor of the school-house or hall gives
little chance for the observers seated back of the first few "rows."
But one may better lose part of the "tableau" on the stage than to
furnish _another_ one on the floor of the house.
At a lecture, a special personal respect is due to the speaker. This
is shown by a courteous attention and a general demeanor of interest
and appreciation. If applause is merited, it should be given in a
refined manner. The stamping of the feet is coarse, and the pounding
of the floor with canes and umbrellas is as lazy as it is noisy. The
clapping of hands is a natural language of delight, and, when
skillfully done, is an enthusiastic expression of approbation. Some
effort is being made to substitute the waving of handkerchiefs as a
symbol of approval or greeting to a favorite speaker, but it is quite
probable that this silent signal will not take the place of the more
active demonstration of clapping the hands, except on very quiet and
intellectual occasions.
Shall ladies join in applause? As a matter of fact, women seldom
applaud, but not because propriety necessarily forbids; it is chiefly
because the tight-fitting kid glove renders "clapping" a mechanical
impossibility. Feminine enthusiasm is quite equal to it at times, as,
for instance, when listening to a favorite elocutionist or violinist.
There is no reason why ladies may not "clap," if they _can_. It
certainly is quite as lady-like and orderly as for them to give vent to
their enthusiasm, as many do, in audible exclamations of "Too sweet for
_anything_!" "Just too _lovely_!" etc., all of which might have been
"conducted off" at the finger-tips if hand-clapping had been a feasible
medium of expression.
Applause may be a very effective and graceful exponent of gentlemanly
appreciation if given with discrimination; but if too ready and
frequent, it ceases to have any point, and becomes commonplace. While
a man of taste will applaud heartily on occasion, he will refrain from
extravagant and continuous clapping.
The observance of the proprieties of time, place, and occasion are
nowhere more urgent than at church. Much of the liberty that is
granted on secular occasions is entirely out of place in church.
While quiet greetings may be exchanged at the church door, or in the
outer vestibules, before and after service, it is not decorous to chat
sociably along the aisles, or hold a gossiping conference in whispers
with some one in the neighboring pew. I have in mind one woman, who
ought to have known better, whose sibilant utterances--just five pews
distant--came to be a regular part of the five minutes' pause
immediately before the service began. Her conversation was usually
directed to another woman, who, likewise, should have known better than
to listen. The silent vault of the church roof echoed to the vigorous
whispering up to the instant that the clergyman began, in low monotone,
"The Lord is in His holy temple"--a fact which the whisperer had
obviously forgotten--"let all the earth keep silence before Him"--an
injunction which she never seemed to be able to remember from week to
week.
It is one of the worst violations of good form to behave with levity in
church. To devout people the church is the place for meditation and
prayer, and nothing should be allowed to disturb the restful calm that
is sought within its sacred walls. A well-bred agnostic will respect
the religious sentiments of other people, whatever his own beliefs or
disbeliefs in matters theological. If no higher law is recognized, at
least every one will regard the etiquette of the case, which requires
that the demeanor of every one within the walls of the church shall be
reverent.
It is proper to dress plainly and _neatly_ for church; to enter the
portal quietly, to walk up the aisle in a leisurely but direct way, and
be seated at once with an air of repose. If cushions or books require
rearranging, it should be done with as little effort as possible.
Every movement should be quiet, and the rattling of fans and of books
in the rack, and "fidgeting" changes of position should be avoided.
The movements in rising, sitting, and kneeling should be deliberate
enough for grace, and cautious enough to avert accidents, like hitting
the pew-railings, knocking down umbrellas, or kicking over footstools.
No sounds but the inevitable rustle of garments should attend the
changes of posture during the service. Not unfrequently several canes
and as many hymn-books clatter to the floor with each rise of the
congregation, because of somebody's nervous haste. Children are often
responsible for these little accidents, and of course are excusable,
but they should be early taught to observe caution in these little
matters.
The clergyman should have the undivided attention of his hearers.
During the lesson and the sermon, one should watch the face of the
reader, or speaker, and give to the minister all the inspiration that
an earnest expounder may find in the face of an intelligent listener.
It is probably thoughtless, not intentional, disrespect--but still
disrespect--for a person to spend "sermon time" studying the
stained-glass windows or the symbolical fresco, interesting as these
things may be.
The singing of the choir may be good; if so, one should not listen to
it with the air of a _connoisseur_ at a grand concert. Or the singing
may be very poor; that fact should not be emphasized by the scowling
countenance of the critic in the pews. A mind absorbed in true
devotion does not measure church singing by secular standards. The
_spirit_ may be woefully lacking in the most artistic rendition: it may
be vitally present in the most humble song of worship. While we may
with righteous indignation condemn the sacrilege of a _spiritless_ or
irreverent singing of the sublime service of the church, it is very bad
form to sneer at the earnest and sincere work of a choir whose
"limitations," in natural gifts or culture, render their work somewhat
commonplace. It is good form to respect all that is _honest_ in
religion, and to reserve sharp criticism for the shams and hypocrisies
that cast discredit on the church.
A regular "pew-owner" in a church should be hospitable to strangers,
and cheerfully give them a place in his pew, offering them books and
hymnals, and aiding them to follow the service if they seem to be
unaccustomed to its forms. At the same time it is only fair to say
that this duty becomes a heavy tax on generosity and patience when, as
in some very popular churches, a floating crowd of sight-seers each
Sunday invade the pews, to the serious discomfort of the regular
occupants. People who attend church as strangers should remember that
they do so by courtesy of the regular attendants. A broad view of the
church opening its doors to all the world is theoretically true, but
practically subject to provisos. A church visitor who observes much
the same care not to be intrusive which good form would require him to
observe if visiting at a private house, will usually be rewarded with a
polite welcome.
The stranger attending church should wait at the foot of the aisle
until an usher conducts him to a seat, as the usher will know where a
stranger can be received with least inconvenience to others in the pew.
The stranger should not take possession of family hymn-books, or fans,
or select the best hassock, or otherwise appropriate the comforts of
the pew, unless invited to do so by the owner, whose guest he is, in a
sense. If attentions are not shown him, he must not betray surprise or
resentment, nor look around speculatively for the hymn-book that is not
forthcoming. If the service is strange to him, he should at least
conform to its salient forms, rising with the congregation, and not
sitting throughout like a stolid spectator of a scene in which he has
no part.
The head should be bowed during the prayers, and the eyes at least
_cast down_, if not closed. To sit and stare at a minister while he is
praying is a grotesque rudeness worthy of a heathen barbarian, yet one
sometimes committed by the civilized Caucasian. The incident may
escape the knowledge of the well-mannered portion of the congregation,
who are themselves bowed in reverent attitude; but the roving eye of
some infant discovers the fact, and it is at once announced; and worst
of all, the child unconsciously gets an influential lesson in
misbehavior in church from the "important" man who thus disregards the
proprieties.